


Basic Equation = Basic Answer

by gacrux



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: AU as in 'gamzee isn't locked in the fridge for the rest of his life' AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Post-Sburb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7185959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gacrux/pseuds/gacrux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shitty troll movie + unexpected sympathy for the clown fuck = a jarring realization for one Dave Strider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basic Equation = Basic Answer

**Author's Note:**

> Divergence where Gamzee doesn't get perma-locked in the fridge, joins the rest of the trolls/kids in the new universe, is a multi-faceted character with feelings and flaws etc etc. Anyway so the idea here was: GamDave trying to be caliginous. Keyword trying.

 

At first, you are so not down with this. You are not down with the clown, your bro Tavros knows this, and so you are caught pitifully unawares and unprepared when he asks you to come 'hAVE A, mAD CHILL SESH' with him and that clown-ass juggalo fuck he calls a friend. In fact, you are so not down with the clown that you come _this_ close to shutting the offer down so hard you can actually already feel future-alt-timeline-Tavros' shame.

 

This turns you off of the obvious course of action: annihilating Tavros' idea like the absconding gazelle it is to your mighty bachelor lion, stalking through the tall, swaying fronds of the wild savanna, rumbling low in your throat to let all those pesky lionesses to hoof it, this one's yours.

 

You're in quite the state, clearly. And you realize you've been hanging out with Nepeta too much lately.

 

Well, no, that's not entirely true. You should probably be hanging out with her more if anything. That wily cat girl strifes like an absolute _monster_. She's teaching you survival tricks, sort of – in between initially-for-teh-lulz roleplays that have since become much more about the character development of your actually not ironic at all OC. It's kinda fun. Her buddies join in occasionally, too. That's how you got to know Tavros, among others.

 

You digress.

 

You know you agreed to go because you're a predictable, gullible schmuck when your bros are involved (particularly Tavros, because he's getting around to being confident like he used to be but he's also still a shy little flower that needs specific care and comfort to thrive), but you also know there's no way in all hell you'll be going anywhere that club-wielding asshole is. No. Way.

 

You tell yourself this even as you drag your feet down the street to Tavros' hive, a sweet little dig that you enjoy hanging your shades up at more often that you'd ever admit. Well, you have admitted it, to certain folks. John found out accidentally on purpose. Rose guessed, intrepid little aspiring psychologist (shrew) that she is, and as usual Jade just fucking _knew_ courtesy of her unearthly psychic mind-reading bullshit. You all thought she'd grow out of it but _no_ , Jade Harely abandons nothing that could be of use to her in the future. She cultivates it, like that musically-inclined attic-garden of hers.

 

You are standing in front of Tavros' front door. You are, in fact, ready to shit yourself over this. Beyond that flimsy piece of metal (troll hives, weird shit is used to build them) lies the juggalo, you're sure, probably trying to pass off his shitty raps as engaging verbatim in the presence of poor, unwitting Tavros.

 

Scratch that, kid's got more wit than you do.

 

Regardless, you don't trust Gamzee any further than you could throw him. Which is to say, not at all because you wouldn't invade that guy's space by more than about a hundred feet given his track record of, you know, _killing all his friends_.

 

That shit was in the game, they all insist. Gamzee's not being manipulated behind the scenes anymore, they say. The murder-rage is left yet untapped within the cockles of his cold, clown heart because nobody crossed the wires of his brain after a particularly ill-timed sopor addiction collapsed, they say. _You_ say the guy's sane for now, sure, but the potential is totally there, and that much they can't deny. Who knows what might set it off – could be anything from losing a rap battle to the gloriously silver-tongued Dave Strider, to having a bird rightly mistake his rat's nest of a hair style for a bush and shit in it.

 

Actually, you kind of hope that happens.

 

If only Davesprite was still around, you're sure he'd share the same sentiment.

 

You knock and feel dumb immediately afterwards. Trolls don't knock on each others' doors because they have Lusii, not parents. Nobody's going to give a shit if you stroll in unless you're toting weapons and possibly a warrant. You've had this discussion with Terezi before, on how weird troll/human customs are. It is a pretty solid split 50-50, but you still thinks the Imperial Drone thing takes every single cake. Like, that shit's not okay.

 

You walk in and wander up to Tavros' room, nodding coolly at his insect-cow lusus that you actually kind of warmed up to over time. After a few visits. It's cute, alright. Gloriously adorable.

 

Mental stalling doesn't really help when you're still on your way up to see Tavros and his shitty could-be would-be matesprit, your possible hate-enemy in troll terms you guess. Well, says Rose, who's spoken to Kanaya about it in passing, who often debates about it with Karkat, who is Gamzee's shitty ass moirail, still. You've heard about some touchy things that went down when you were all still in the game, a mismatched, misguided kismesisitude, some break ups that were eventually mended with time and understanding, the emotional crippling of people (and trolls) undeserving of that kind of rank BS.

 

There had been lot of mind control on Gamzee's end, you hear.

 

You still think he's as far from trustworthy as Bec Noir was from good.

 

You walk straight into Tavros' room without knocking because you've been bros for a while and he should know to expect it now. He does; doesn't even flinch when he notices you from the husktop he and the clown fuck are huddled over, probably a stupid movie with a title so long and stupid you feel stupid for even trying to fathom it.

 

“Hey, Dave.” Tavros greets, more calm than you thought he'd be. Maybe he talked to Gamzee beforehand? You don't know.

 

“'Sup.” You say. Gamzee turns from the movie slowly and when your eyes meet you are very... disconcerted. He's leering at you again, dopey eyes all half-mast and roving, and in a shitty, unexpected way you feel inquisitive. You're curious. You've got your wonder on. This fucking guy, you think. You've had like, upwards of five trillion god awful conversations about him with Rose, and you know she takes her findings back to Kanaya, therefore to Karkat, therefore to probably the clown fuck himself.

 

You know this. You talk to Rose anyway.

 

(She has asked you whether you talk to her to, in a very roundabout way, get your thoughts back to the clown. You never know how to respond to that without having a kind-of sort-of internal meltdown.)

 

Gamzee doesn't say anything, so you don't say anything to him, but the mutual _watching_ has Tavros clearing his throat and explaining what they were doing. You don't hear a word. You don't even hear your own heartbeat for a minute, because it's lodged in your throat. Out of fear? Out of apprehension? Excitement?

 

Fuck these troll emotions. Fuck your culturally adaptive sense of societal norms.

 

You keep watching anyway.

 

Gamzee settles back on the floor of Tavros' room. This puts Tavros at ease, at least. You, not so much. You can still see Gamzee's claws, still see his fangs where they peek out from between his lips. You are not very keen on meeting the business ends of either of the aforementioned built-in troll weaponry.

 

“Well sit the fuck down, Strider.” Makara drawls, leering, patting the space on the floor beside him. Your instincts tell you to get the fuck outta dodge approximately _right now,_ but Tavros is pretending not to look up at you expectantly and god damn it, you can't deal with puppy dog eyes. Calf eyes? Whatever, not the point.

 

You are moving on auto-pilot. That's the only explanation for your body moving, but your mind staying firmly put over there by the door. Tavros smiles encouragingly and the clown fuck doesn't really emote at all, and you are glad your shades have hidden what is probably the most rank fear you've ever felt. That guy scares you, okay? Clowns fucking scare you.

 

But.

 

You sit down next to him, a good foot and a half away because you've got to be careful about this. Not too close, not as absurdly far away as you'd like to be. You can _feel_ him staring at the side of your head, but Tavros starts up the movie again and goes to sit next to Gamzee. This turns out to be a horrible mistake, because chuckles shifts closer to you by about a foot and that leaves you with six measly god damn inches between you and him. Your shoulders could brush any minute now. Fucking _zoinks_. And the guy is about three thousand miles taller and broader than you are, so he takes up kind of a lot of space.

 

That's the thing about these trolls and their castes and hemospectrums and species dividing bullshit – it actually _matters_. The Makaras are, according to Rose (to Kanaya and thus to Karkat), part of the most fundamentally dangerous caste of troll in existence. You remember how passive she was about it, like she was talking about a hurricane off the east coast destroying lives and families and calling it 'Fluffy' or something.

 

Something about Subjugglators and their freaky ass psychic powers, kind of like Jade's got but more terrifying, aptly called _chucklevoodoos_ of all fucking things. So they're bigger, you guess, if Gamzee's outrageous growth spurt post-game was anything to judge by, and stronger, if the tales you've been told hold even a grain of truth.

 

And crazier, you're pretty sure, because chucklefuck is looking at you like you stole his slime or whatever. Not that he eats it anymore. Apparently. And he keeps looking at you. And looking at you. And you're pretty sure he's not watching the movie at all, even though you are trying your damnedest to keep your eyes on the screen. For Tavros's sake. Also so that you don't have to look over and see 100+ pounds of weird clown troll glaring/staring/ogling at you.

 

Then the worst possible things occurs: Tavros pauses the movie and stands up, announces he's, uh, going to get some more snacks, okay? And you could cry. Okay, probably not cry, but you're not really liking this whole alone-with-the-clown deal. It's not good for business. Operation Dave is about to shut down. Conveyor belts have come to a full stop, employees are throwing down their hats in disgust, people are protesting out front, demanding better pay for the shit they have to deal with at Dave Inc.

 

“Hey, motherfucker, you're awful twitchy.” Gamzee says, turning to face you more directly. He's got that general smile he always has on, but it's hard to tell how much is genuine mirth and how much is the dopey face paint.

 

“No I'm not. Not twitchy at all. And if I were, it'd be because production at Dave Inc has slowed to a veritable crawl and that shit is just not acceptable. I'm losing profit by the nanosecond, and time is money in this currency driven world.” You reply.

 

Gamzee squints at you, like he's got no idea what you just said.

 

“I ain't gonna lie, bro, I'm not sure what the motherfuck you just said.”

 

“That's fine.” You say. “Totally fine. Yep, fine as felt. We're cool. It's cool.”

 

Gamzee eyes you, and he's pretty unabashed about it. This is kinda different, though? Compared to his earlier testy glare. He looks. Well, if you had to put into words, you'd say he looked disappointed – but that can't be right. Why would he be disappointed, like, at all? You haven't done anything except sit here in abject misery, for Tavros's sake more than your own, waiting for this stupid god damn shitty troll movie to end so you can abscond the _fuck_ outta there, and.

 

Honestly, sometimes you can be as emotionally dense as John. Maybe that's why you're friends.

 

You purse your lips for a moment as you thoroughly consider this mind-melting revelation that, perhaps, just maybe, Gamzee Makara is a lonely, isolated little clown fuck. Emphasis on _maybe_. This is just a working hypothesis, just something you are going to passively consider while the two of you sit in awkward silence waiting for Tavros to finish messing around in the kitchen and come back upstairs.

 

So, where to start.

 

You hazard a surreptitious glance at the clown himself, who is turned away from you now and resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes are unfocused, directed at the husktop, but he's clearly not absorbed in the hot female troll eye-candy onscreen or whatever. He reminds you of one of your Bro's old robots; standby light on, nobody home.

 

See, that's just the thing. You've always sort of assumed that was the clown's natural state. But you definitely saw disappointment there, an emotion that you could understand and sympathize with – which is, for the record, what you're doing right now. You kind of feel like a douchebag admitting this to yourself, but you never considered Gamzee to be – sentient? Capable of thought? Alive? Like, the other trolls all talk like humans, act like humans, display some degree of emotion like humans. You could even have half a discussion with Equius before things got weird and he inevitably started talking about his horse fetish. Or milk. Fuck, all that milk.

 

Gamzee? No chance. You're pretty sure it's the same for everyone. Or at least, you were. But when you think about it, moirails are a pretty big deal for trolls and Karkat has to get something out of his relationship with Gamzee. He wouldn't stick around otherwise. Also, you've never heard him utter a single untoward word about the clown, and Karkat talks shit about everyone and their barkbeast. It's in his cherry red blood to gossip like an old troll woman, as Terezi would say. It's a gift, really. But of Gamzee, he says next to nothing.

 

And it's not just Karkat. Tavros likes Gamzee a lot. They're not matesprits, you're not really sure what they are, but Tavros is practically attached to Gamzee at the hip. There's got to be a reason for that, even if you don't personally get it. You've talked to him about it before, briefly and never in much detail. They don't ever linger on the topic of Gamzee, because you think he knows you're uncomfortable with it. Him. The idea of him. You're not _scared_ , but you're... careful, about a lot of things. Tavros only ever says, in total seriousness, that he's a real sweetheart. You remind him he killed a lot of trolls. Tavros will give you this look of resignation, pause, and then say, _that's true,_ and _there are some things you can't. Ever atone for. Never._

 

And then you move on from the topic, every time you get to that point, because you just don't understand how Tavros could feel even remotely safe around someone who has killed in the past, and who has the potential to do it again.

 

It's a weird troll thing, you are assured. But you want to understand. You _hate_ not understanding.

 

Most of the other trolls treat him like the punchline to a dumb joke. You get the feeling they do that out of habit. Gamzee is weird as hell now, sure, but he used to be on sopor and you hear that shit can really fuck a troll up. So you understand that, at least. Then you feel weird again, because that means Gamzee's only ever been treated as some sort of vague and unfunny jest. You're not sure how that managed to happen, given all the evidence that points to him being one of the most dangerous trolls in existence or something. You're not sure how that works. You just know that the humour everyone attempts to hide their thinly veiled discomfort behind is, frankly, just that: thinly veiled. You wonder why none of this occurred to you sooner.

 

You suppose you should cut yourself a break, though. You've been wrapped up in issues of your own lately, and it's not like you're actually obligated to care about Gamzee. Even if you do feel kind of bad about being an unintentional douche by never being able to view him like you do the rest of the trolls. And now you've just made yourself feel worse.

 

Alright, you guess it's time to man up. If you don't say something you'll just feel stupid, so.

 

“Hey, uh, Makara?”

 

He looks over at you, perhaps mildly surprised that you're engaging in conversation. Maybe he's reserving judgment until after you say your shit. Which, by the way, you haven't even slightly planned. Or even thought about. This is literally a split second decision you made half a minute ago.

 

“Shit, bro, out with it.” He says, a little impatiently.

 

“Alright, alright, chill.” You don't know if this is going to ruin the black nonsense you had going on, but you tell yourself you don't care. “I'm just saying this because I want to be one hundred percent, totally clear. So we don't have to go over this again.”

 

He waits, head turned your way, resting on his knee, all hunched over. He reminds you of Karkat like that. You squint at the resemblance.

 

“Anyway, I just don't wanna have to say this again. So.” You pause, having just paraphrased what you said five seconds ago like a complete idiot. How the fuck do you say this without sounding ten different kinds of insulting. “I know there's been a lot of talk going around lately. About you. And the game. I mean in general. Jesus Christ I'm awful at this. Okay but we both know people around here gossip like wrinkly old women at a laundromat hashing out stories about Billy Jean down the street who sucked Joe Blow's dick for like a quarter or something I dunno, and they talk about you because of some shit that went down in the game that probably wasn't your fault anyway. And hell, what does it matter now? I mean we're all alive and not in danger of dying any time soon – at least not by some OP god dog gone wrong or evil time lords or what the fuck ever-”

 

“ _Strider_.” Gamzee says.

 

“Right. Point is there's been a lot of tongues wagging, the rumour mill's been churning shit out like a god damn waterfall of feces, but I just want to be absolutely clear about my opinion on all that fuckery: I don't care.” You say, more confidently than you expected. Gamzee raises his head off his knees, honing in on you. You don't think you've said anything that spectacular, but Gamzee looks – well, you can't tell. “Yeah. That's it, basically. I think you're a dopey idiot clown but I'm not afraid of you, dude. So. There.”

 

It takes a moment for Gamzee to react – which you expect – and when he does, it's not at all like you expected. He sort of chin-hands at you, the corner of his lip pulled back in a bit of a mischievous smirk. You frown behind your shades.

 

“What?” You demand.

 

“You were fuckin' afraid of me, motherfucker. I bet you're hidin' behind those neat lil shades of yours right now, aren't you?” Gamzee suggests lazily. He reclines back onto his palms, laughing at whatever expression you've made. There's a certain liveliness to his posture now, one you'll be taking credit for, thanks very much. Even if you're kind of pissed off now.

 

“I am not afraid of you, you jacked up clown, did you hear a word I just said?” You retort.

 

“Yeah, motherfucker, whatever you say.” He tilts his head at you and it is _so_ obnoxious.

 

“Oh my god, you fucking – I am _not_ afraid of you.”

 

“Uh-huh.” He agrees, mirthful as fucking ever.

 

“Holy shit, I'm gonna kick your ass.”

 

“Bring it the fuck on then.” He is just tempting fate here, you think.

 

And Tavros chooses that moment to wander back in, a bowl full of troll popcorn or whatever clasped in his hands. He also has a glass of Faygo balanced on top of his head, because that's one of Tavros's inexplicable talents and you think he knows everybody gets a kick out of it. When he notices the halfway concerning tension in the room though, it gives him pause.

 

“Oh no, did I walk in on something? Again?”

 

You're about to tell him no, definitely nothing worth calling a Something, but Gamzee beats you to it.

 

“Nah, Tavbro, just clearing the motherfuckin' air and shit.” He says, patting the space of floor to his right.

 

“Oh.” Tavros eyes you suspiciously for a moment longer and then sits down in his spot, placing the popcorn between the three of you. “Well, I hope the, air is clear.”

 

Again, you go to say something, but Gamzee glances your way with a curious little grin.

 

“Yeah, air's all up'n clear as a wicked crystal.” He replies.

 

You feel not bad about this whole movie scheme, actually. You think it should happen again. Soon. Yeah.


End file.
